Greatest Need
by TrekScribbles
Summary: Present-day Merlin has long-ago given up on the promise that Arthur would return when Albion's need was greatest- until the day that he runs into another person he had never hoped to see again: Gwen. She doesn't remember him, but she is tied to a handful of other familiar faces, and Merlin begins to wonder if the time for Arthur's return is coming after all.
1. Chapter 1

_Merlin_

An unfortunate consequence of immortality is that every new face looks familiar. There are only so many shapes of lips and angles of jaws and colors of eyes, and after a few centuries I gave up trying to keep them all straight in my mind. I often find myself staring at a person, trying to recall if I have met them before or if I'm remembering some long-dead ancestor of theirs. It got so bad that over the years the features and names blurred together in my memory and drove me, eventually, to isolation.

That is not to say that I am an unfriendly man- I consider myself quite cheerful, considering the life I have led. And it is not to say that I confuse everyone, because certain names and faces stick in my memory better than others. But there are only a handful of identities that I have never mistaken, and only because they are my oldest and most-cherished memories. The ghosts of those faces have haunted me for 2,000 years, during which I have seen features so achingly familiar that I wept at the impossibility of it. There were no descendants to which I could turn, no portraits I could find to ease my loneliness. Only my memories.

Gaius had had no children- he often referred to me as the son he'd never had. After he died I had sought out any relatives he might have had, but he was alone in the world but for those of us in Camelot. Gwen and Arthur had produced no heirs, though after his death Gwen visited Gaius every day for weeks hoping that she might have some final miraculous gift from the King. But it never came, and after a few years of urging from the council she took Sir Leon as her husband. I never felt that there was love between them, though there was certainly a great deal of respect and friendship. The two of them never had children, though whether that was by choice or by fate I never asked, and they never told. If Gwaine had had any illegitimate children, which I half-expected and even hoped for, I never found them. Only Percival had had a family, but the last of his line died out long ago, when the tales of Camelot were still considered history rather than myth.

For years I had searched, seeking out every last tie to the friends who fell to mortality while I was forced to continue, but there was nothing to find. Desperate to keep at least the memory of them alive, I'd cast a spell which allowed me to hold the vision of their faces and the sounds of their voices in my mind, so that when the ever-changing world consumed the reality of their existence, I held fast to the knowledge of who they really were.

So when I sat down this morning at the corner table in a tiny coffee shop I occasionally visited, ordered a cup of coffee, and prepared to lose myself in the numbing words of my book, the very last person I'd expected to ask me if I'd like a refill was Guinevere.

I jump, and then she jumps, and I stare while she readjusts her hold on the coffee pot in her hand. "Sorry-ˮ she blurts, and the voice is hers too. I blink, trying to match the image of Queen Guinevere with the girl before me. It is her face exactly, the same gentle brown eyes and flawless, nervous smile, but her hair is cut short and she is wearing jeans and a plain green t-shirt under a wrinkled apron.

"Um- sorry," I stammer, wondering if my spell is beginning to wear off. "I thought you were someone else."

She smiles the painfully familiar smile of our first meeting in Camelot, gushing friendly cheer and just a touch of awkwardness. "Sorry," she laughs. "Just me."

I catch myself staring again and clear my throat. "Are you new?"

"Yeah- I just started today," she answers readily. "I'm Gwen."

"Gwen," I echo, and I almost choke on the name. "Short for…?"

The girl named Gwen wrinkles her nose. "Gwyneth," she scowls. "Isn't that awful?"

"No," I say quickly, but I'm lying. She is not Gwyneth, and for some reason the change of name makes me feel disappointed.

But she just laughs. "It's alright, I'm used to it. Sorry, I don't think I asked your name."

"Oh, I'm-ˮ I pause, trying to remember which appearance I'm wearing. The skin on my hands is smooth- I'm young then, about her age, because I'm going to attend a lecture on Arthurian literature later this afternoon. "Morgan," I answer finally. "I'm Morgan."

"Nice to meet you, Morgan," Gwen smiles, extending her free hand to shake mine.

_At least I'm not in the stocks this time,_ I think dryly, my mind spinning with the familiarity of our meeting. _Perhaps I'm dreaming?_

It wouldn't be the first time I've dreamed of meeting my friends again, but in my dreams they appear exactly as they had in Camelot. This girl's hair and clothes are enough to prove that she isn't a figment of my imagination, but I have no other way of explaining her.

"D'you want a refill?" Gwen asks, lifting the coffee pot slightly.

"Er- yes. Thanks."

She pours the steaming liquid into my mug, the handle of which I hold steady as I try to think of what to do next. Not much surprises me anymore, but this… how am I to react to this? This girl cannot be Guinevere. She clearly doesn't recognize me, even though I appear exactly the same as I had in Camelot, except for my clothes. And anyway, I was with her when she died- the last of them all, besides me. She had been old then, and sick, and I'd held her hand while the life slipped out of her. So how can she be here, young and beautiful and memory-less? How could she have possibly forgotten?

And yet here she is- modern, but unmistakably Guinevere. She flashes me her familiar brilliant smile and starts to turn away, and I am seized by the sudden fear that if I let her out of my sight I will lose her to the busy crowds of the city and never see her again.

"You're new here?" I blurt, trying to think of something to keep her from going.

"Yeah," she answers. "Just moved here a week ago. My boyfriend lives in town, and I wanted to be closer to him. I mean, not that I moved here just to be with my boyfriend," she continues hastily. "Obviously I wouldn't do that, but I'm studying at the University and it's nice to know someone in town, you know? My family's not from here, so he's all I've got, but it's good to be able to get out and live my own life." She breaks off, looking vaguely embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm rambling so much."

"No, it's ok," I tell her. "You said your… boyfriend-ˮ I stumble over the word and try not to let my sudden flare of hope show in my voice. If Gwen is back, is it possible that Arthur has followed her? "Your boyfriend lives in town?"

"Mmm-hmm," Gwen nods. "Lance is going to be a policeman. He's studying at the University too."

"Lance," I repeat, more to myself than her. Not what I'd been hoping for, but too much of a coincidence to dismiss completely. "Lance the policeman. He sounds nice."

She smiles at me again. "He is. We only met a few months ago, but it's strange… I feel like I've known him my whole life. Maybe we met as kids or something."

"Or in another life," I say quietly.

Gwen gives me an odd look, as if she's trying to decide if I'm making fun of her. "I just mean," I go on, hoping I haven't offended her. "You know, some people believe that when you meet someone and get on really well right away, it's because the souls recognize each other. And I mean- Gwen and Lance?" I smile in what I hope is a disarming way. "That's a nice coincidence."

She laughs. "You mean like King Arthur? My soul is Guinevere and his is Lancelot?"

"It could happen," I shrug.

"You're strange," she giggles, and then breaks off, horrified. "I don't mean that in a nasty way," she adds quickly, and my stomach flips at the familiar words. "You're just… funny. I like that."

When had she said that to me before? Not long after our first meeting, I am sure, but I can't recall the events surrounding her words. They were her words though- Guinevere's, my Guinevere's. The best friend besides Arthur I'd ever known. Not even my lifetime is long enough for me to forget the moments we'd shared- especially not with the added enhancement of my spell. How can this be happening?

"Do you come here often?" Gwen asks, covering up my silence with her unquenchable friendliness.

"Yes," I lie. I like coffee shops, and I've been to this one a few times before, but as a rule I try not to frequent one establishment over another.

"Good," she smiles. "Then I'll see you again?"

I push my confusion and questions aside and return her smile. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

She gives me a parting, dazzling smile and turns away, and this time I let her go.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes me about a minute to swallow down my coffee, burning my tongue and tasting none of it before I flee into the street. I need more answers, but now is not the time. _Tomorrow,_ I resolve. _I'll return tomorrow and talk to her again._

By now it is early afternoon, and I have nothing to do until the Arthurian lecture at 4:30. The lecture will be given by a Dr. Rupert Penn, a visiting professor whose work I have found to be eerily accurate. He's an expert on Arthurian literature and medieval history, and he seems to pour a great deal of his attention into the years before Arthur's rule. He is fascinated by the idea of magic and its connection to the legends, and has even postulated that certain types of magic were possible at that point in history. He is one of the only historians I've read who truly believes that the legends were based on real events, and is working on proving Arthur's existence and identity.

Though I have never attended any of his lectures before, I think he's a brilliant author. Normally the Arthurian legends either make me laugh or make me angry (who decided that Merlin was an old man?), but Dr. Penn's theories are refreshing and- frankly- closer to the truth than I have heard anyone else get.

It is early fall and I am without a jacket, but the coffee I have just inhaled and the long sleeves of my faded blue shirt are enough to keep me warm if I stay in the sun. My book is still in my hand, and I consider finding a bench somewhere and reading in the sunlight, but I am too anxious for that. There are too many questions that need answering, and if I don't force myself to do something else I know my mind will return to them.

So I go to the University two hours early and wander the halls, letting myself blend into the groups of students hurrying to their classes. I've taken a couple of classes here over the years- never more than three years in a row- but it's been a few decades since I've been back. It's always a risk, returning to a school where the professors might still recognize me. Usually I keep to myself and try to remain anonymous, but invariably I will write or say something that is "too wise for my young age", forgetting that I must act as the twenty-something-year-old boy I appear to be and not the two thousand-something-year-old I am, and earn the attention of my professors. Occasionally I have even taught at this university, when I became bored of taking notes from men who could barely grasp the concepts on which they were lecturing, but it has been years since I've done that. When I looked over the list of faculty a few days ago I found I did not recognize a single name, and knew I would be safe to return again.

Though I told myself I didn't want to read, I find myself wandering unthinkingly toward the campus library. Libraries are a kind of haven to me, though I don't particularly enjoy reading for its own sake. Being surrounded by aisles of history makes me feel more at home than I ever could with people. Books make no demands of me, do not care if I grew old or don't grow old, or whether I forget which name I was going by. Books remember what other people forget, like I do. Books are cherished and used and shelved and forgotten, like I am. People move on, but books remain the same, and I love them for it.

So I drop myself into a chair by a window where I can watch the passing of the sun (I have gotten very good at telling the time without needing to wear a watch), and do what I thought I did not want to do. I read, and I think about Guinevere.

And I fall asleep.

In my dreams I wander the shores of Avalon, making the trek I have walked nearly every night since Arthur's death. I watch the ancient, motionless waters and wonder if Gwen's reappearance in my life means anything more than the coincidence it seems. A gentle breeze ruffles the scarf on my neck, the scarf I had thrown away ages ago but which I am always wearing in these dreams. I make sure to look exactly the way I did that day, so that Arthur will recognize me when he comes out of the water.

But it doesn't happen. It never happens. Night after night I visit the silent lake, walking endlessly its taunting banks, but I am always the only thing that moves. And when I wake up, jerking to consciousness just before I slide out of my chair, I am left with the feeling that my memory spell must be failing. Gwen is not Guinevere, and her presence does not mean that Arthur is coming back. After everything I have lived through- invasions and battles and World Wars- if those weren't enough to bring him back, then I can't imagine anything will be. _Albion's greatest need,_ Kilgharrah had told me. That Arthur would return when Albion's need was greatest. But Albion is gone now. I failed the kingdom just like I failed its king, and nothing will ever change it.

Shaking my head to clear it of the vision of the lake, I look out the window and wince. I'm going to be late for the lecture. Punctuality is not something I normally pay much attention to, but I really had wanted to hear what Dr. Penn had to say. I still do. Besides, it's not like I have anything else to do tonight.

With a sigh, I heave myself out of the chair like the old man I am and take a slow, sleepy breath. Maybe attending a lecture on Arthurian literature is not the best idea, given my present mood, but I don't know how long Dr. Penn will be visiting and I don't want to miss the chance to hear him speak. So I straighten my back and tug the wrinkles out of my shirt, yawning away my last bit of tiredness and forcing myself to look like a bright-eyed, eager student as I shuffle toward the lecture hall.

I've already missed half of it. I can hear the muffled, microphone-garbled sound of his voice bleeding through the closed doors, which are guarded by two bored-looking campus security officers. I flash them an old student ID, which they barely glance at before opening the doors just wide enough for me to slip through.

The room is packed, so I edge along the wall and stand in the back with the other late-comers. "You see," Dr. Penn is saying, and I look toward the stage as his voice tugs suddenly at my memory. "Many medieval people believed in magic the way we believe in science; it explained the way the world worked to them, and who are we to know for sure that they were wrong?"

And then I see him, and receive my second shock of the day. King Uther is standing in the center of the stage, holding a microphone and gesturing wildly as he speaks. He is wearing a brown tweed suit and wire-rimmed glasses that almost keep me from recognizing him, but his voice is unmistakable. Uther Pendragon, semi-tyrannical ruler of Camelot and persecutor of the supernatural, is giving a lecture on magic. It would be laughable if it wasn't also terrifying. I feel as if my world is being systematically torn through the veil of my memories, distorted and shredded until nothing is left but confused chaos. Once again I wonder if there's something wrong with my spell, resulting in false memories that my brain is now using current faces to cover up. It's certainly possible: once I became a professor of psychology to research that very chance. But magic is not an exact science (if one can call it science at all), and in the end I was forced to simply conclude that it hadn't happened yet. Perhaps now it has.

Professor Penn is still talking, but I have long since retreated into my own thoughts and lost track of what he's been saying. Something about ancient people misunderstanding science as magic. He obviously didn't know Gaius- Gaius never stood for people misunderstanding science, and he certainly knew the difference between the two. That thought makes me pause and fills me with mixed apprehension and hope. If Guinevere and Uther are here, is it possible that Gaius is as well? Or Gwaine? Percival? There are several religions which advocate the idea of reincarnation; perhaps it is possible after all. Perhaps something is happening that is gathering together the souls of my past, like a magnet slowly pulling paperclips toward the center of a table. Perhaps it hasn't happened yet, but fate is gathering us together again to defeat it.

Perhaps Albion's greatest need is upon us after all.


	3. Chapter 3

_I need to meet him._ The thought is simultaneously a realization and a decision, and I am instantly impatient for his presentation to be over. It actually surprises me; very little has made me impatient in the last couple hundred years. Most things come and go with the fluid consistency of time, and I am content to let them appear and fade as they were meant to. Patience is another unavoidable lesson taught by immortality.

It takes another forty minutes for him to finish, and though the more sensible part of me recognizes that it was a brilliant presentation, I am relieved when he announces that he will be meeting people in the lobby for questions. I slip through the doors before most of the crowd has chance to get up from their chairs and wait anxiously for him to appear. I'm not even really sure what to say to him, but that's never stopped me before. If something is happening to gather the ghosts of my past together, I need to find out what it is- and the previous king of Camelot seems like a good place to start.

A delighted laugh cuts through the humming chatter of the gathering crowd, and I turn my head in surprise to see Gwen pushing through the clumps of people to throw her arms around a boy standing a little to my right. His back is to me, and he's wearing his hood up over his head so I can't see his face, but she looks so happy that I can't imagine it is anyone but Lance. What is she doing here? Did she attend the lecture too? Is it possible that she's responding to some ancient memory of herself, drawn toward the Arthurian legends despite the centuries between her two lives? Or is it just another bizarre coincidence?

I've become skeptical in my old age, but even I am not that jaded. Fate has controlled my life before, and there is no reason why it could not again. Perhaps it's time I met this Lance.

Across the room, Gwen giggles and hugs the boy again, and a stab of homesickness nearly makes me change my mind. The last time I saw Lancelot was when I'd set fire to his body after he and Guinevere betrayed Arthur's trust and voided his engagement to the blacksmith's daughter. Even then I was convinced that we were missing something; the action was so against Guinevere's character- and Lancelot's as well- that I had known something was wrong. But I'd never found proof, and since Arthur ended up forgiving her anyway I'd grudgingly let the matter drop. Lancelot had been one of Arthur's best knights, but he was also my friend. Even after all this time, I can't help feeling guilty that I'd never solved the mystery and cleared his name as he deserved.

Maybe now I'm being given the chance to set things right once and for all. All of my mistakes, all of my failures… maybe there's a way for things to end the way they were meant to all those lifetimes ago.

Before I have a chance to lose my nerve, I push between a pair of students and make my way toward Gwen and Lance. She has let him go now, and he's holding her at arm's length. I can see his hands on her shoulders, and my step falters.

His skin is the same flawless, deep shade as hers. It isn't Lancelot.

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I stand idiotically for a few more moments, watching as he releases her, waves goodbye, and continues past her to melt into the crowd and disappear from my sight. Belatedly I realize what I must look like and start to turn away, but she's already seen me. With an excited wave, she slips between the groups of students and bounces up to me, grinning.

"Hey!" she greets cheerfully. "Morgan, right? D'you go to school here too?"

"Uh- yeah," I lie. She's changed out of her work uniform into a pair of jeans and an asymmetrical t-shirt that hangs off of one shoulder. Her face is absolutely glowing.

"This is my lucky day," she announces. "I meet two new people who both show up a few hours later, I get to hear Professor Penn speak, and I get a surprise visit from-ˮ

"You're interested in Professor Penn?" I interrupt, deciding at the last second to focus on the coincidences rather than the inconsistencies.

If she is surprised by my rudeness, she doesn't show it. "Yeah, isn't he great?" she gushes. "His ideas are just so… original, I guess. But they make sense, don't they?"

"That magic was real?" I counter dully, unable to keep my disappointment about Lancelot from coloring my voice.

"Well, maybe," she answers. "I mean, it could have been science that they just didn't understand yet. But who knows? It's not like we have any eyewitnesses anymore. Just some half-destroyed records and accounts, and _they_ all talk about magic."

My face must have betrayed me when she mentioned the eyewitnesses, because she gives me an odd look. "What?" she presses.

Abruptly I feel the weight of my disappointment and heartache, and I desperately wish she could be the friend she once was to me. "Do you believe in reincarnation?" I ask, half-surprising myself with the bluntness of my question.

She considers me for a moment, thinking through her answer before shrugging. "I dunno. I suppose."

"Well suppose- if it's true- that souls who knew each other in one life gravitate together again."

"Ok," she allows slowly. "So?"

"If they gravitate toward people, wouldn't they gravitate toward memories as well?"

"What do you mean?"

_Please hear me, Guinevere,_ I pray silently. "You, for example. A girl named Gwen dating a boy named Lance with an interest in Arthurian legends."

That's when she laughs. "You think I'm the reincarnation of Queen Guinevere?"

I shrug, ready to play the whole thing off as a joke. "Why not? You believe in magic, don't you?"

"Alright," she says indulgently. "So if I'm Guinevere and Lance is Lancelot- Lance _is_ Lancelot, right?- where's Arthur? Shouldn't Guinevere end up with Arthur?"

"Arthur's a little late," I murmur, losing my light tone. I force it back in time to add, "That's Arthur, though. He does things by his own schedule."

Gwen laughs again. "You know him?"

"I did."

"Oh?"

"Once. A long time ago."

Still smiling, Gwen asks, "So you're roped up in the reincarnation business too, huh? Who are you supposed to be?"

"Oh, Guinevere," I tell her sadly. "I'm Merlin."


	4. Chapter 4

It is a testament to her kindness- both now and as I knew her- that Gwen does not immediately condemn me as a psychopath and try to escape. Instead she watches me carefully, gauging my next action while considering my words. It would be easy to laugh, to play the fool as I have so often in my life, and simply accept a Gwen who does not remember me. Having any reminder of her friendship is gift enough; do I really deserve more? It's probably best to take back my claims now while there is still a friendship to salvage.

But I don't. I wait for her reaction, trying not to appear as insane as I sound. The seconds drag on with impossible lethargy, compounding the craziness of my words as she has more time to think them through. People shuffle around us as they jostle into line, waiting for their chance to speak with Professor Penn. That at least doesn't bother me; I've spent two thousand years waiting for Arthur, after all. Waiting an extra hour or two for the professor is barely even worth mentioning.

Finally, a slow smile breaks across her face like sunrise over a gray hillside. "D'you really believe that?"

I pause before answering so I don't say anything too stupid. "Well, why not? How else do you explain it?"

"Coincidence?" she laughs.

"That's a lot of coincidence."

She tosses her head, still smiling. "So you'd rather believe that we're all the reincarnated souls which inspired the Arthurian legends than in the coincidence of a girl named Gwen dating a boy named Lance?"

Her smile is contagious, and my mood lightens with the knowledge that she hasn't fled from my impossible claims. "It isn't just you," I admit, wondering how far I can push my luck.

"Oh?"

"Professor Penn."

Gwen laughs again, a delighted and delightful sound. "Professor Penn? Who's he?"

"King Uther," I tell her. "I think part of him remembers hints of memories from his previous life. That's why his theories are so close to the truth."

"And how would you know what the truth is?" she asks. There is still a light amusement in her voice, and I know she is humoring me the way an adult might indulge an imaginative child. But I don't care. I haven't spoken of my past this freely in a thousand years, and memories or no this _is_ Gwen. She deserves to know.

So I shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant way. "I remember it."

She cocks her head to the side a little, eyebrows drawing together curiously despite herself. "What do you mean?"

Okay, maybe the whole truth isn't a good idea. "Some people remember their past lives," I say instead, making up an explanation as I go. "Professor Penn remembers bits and pieces, I think, and you remember enough- at least subconsciously- to gravitate toward the Arthurian legends. But I remember everything."

"So you're saying you… remember me?" she asks slowly. "From your past life?"

I'm starting to lose her. "It happens sometimes," I rush on. "More than you'd think. Soul mates, for example, or friends you meet out of the blue who end up changing your life. People who get close so quickly you wonder if you'd met before, because you can't possibly understand each other so soon." I'm rambling now, making everything up as I go, and I think she can tell. "I know I sound like a lunatic. But it's the truth."

Ish. But the real truth would sound even crazier than my hastily-worded attempt at an explanation, so I keep it to myself. If I'm lucky, she'll simply dismiss me as a brain-damaged stranger and let me shuffle around the perimeter of her life, rather than calling campus security or filing one of those- what are they called?- restraining orders. I'm pushing my luck, I know, but I decide to give one last shot at reaching the friend I once had and open my stupid mouth again.

"Prove it," she demands, interrupting me before I can think of what to say.

"What?"

"Prove it." She folds her arms, watching me with raised eyebrows and a blank expression. Her posture is closed, with her arms crossed over her chest like a feeble attempt at guarding her heart, but her eyes are bright with curiosity. She wants to believe me- perhaps a piece of her soul that is still Guinevere is kindling that spark of faith- I just need to give it fuel.

"We were friends," I tell her slowly. "I mean, Guinevere and Merlin. Before Arthur or the Knights or anything else, we worked together in the castle. You were Lady Morgana's maid, and I-"

"Lady Morgana?" Gwen cuts in. "You mean Morgan le Fay? Queen Guinevere was her servant?"

That would be the legends getting things wrong again. For some reason, Guinevere's life before her marriage to Arthur had been forgotten and reinvented, adapted into the stories which turned her into a damsel which more resembles a mouse than the fierce girl I knew. "Guinevere was a blacksmith's daughter," I explain. "Servant to the lady before I arrived in Camelot. We met after I'd been thrown into the stocks for picking a fight with Prince Arthur, which I would have won if I hadn't been wrongfully arrested and detained."

A tiny smile lifts one corner of her mouth, but then she frowns. "_Prince_ Arthur? I thought he was-"

"He wasn't raised as a peasant and he didn't become king after pulling a magic sword from a stone," I sighed. "That was much later, and mostly my doing. Not that Arthur ever knew that."

"Alright," Gwen says slowly. Amusedly. "So they threw an old wizard in the stocks and-"

"Also not an old man," I correct. "I was the same age as the rest of you, usually. A few times I used magic to appear old, but none of you ever knew it was me. Well, _you_ did, afterwards, but not until…" I trail off, unwilling to mention Arthur's death in my little narrative. "Anyway, I was in the stocks, and you said Arthur was a bully and needed to be taught a lesson, but you didn't think I could be the one to do it because I didn't look like a 'save-the-world' type."

She laughs. "You don't. Sorry."

"I'm in disguise," I tease, and for a moment I don't even realize that I'm quoting myself. "I mean, I was. You see, magic was banned, and since I was a sorcerer I had to hide my abilities when I came to live in Camelot. I became Arthur's manservant and saved his life every other day and eventually Arthur realized how perfect you were for him, and then you saved his life about as often."

Gwen's smile is bright, if not totally convinced. "And what about Lancelot?"

I pause for a moment, sifting through my preserved memories and selecting the best ones. "He was my friend too. And yours, and Arthur's. He always liked you, but when you and Arthur got together, he backed off. Left, actually. He didn't want to get in the way of things, especially since he was Arthur's knight and friend. But then things got bad, and we needed his help." I stop again, trying to decide if I should tell her what really happened. If she even believes that I'm talking about real people she would obviously know that they're dead now, but I'm not sure going into detail about Lancelot's death is necessary. "Some stuff happened," I say vaguely. "And he ended up leaving again after he saved the day."

"What about… you know, Guinevere and Lancelot?" she presses. "Didn't they betray Arthur?"

"The Gwen I knew never would have betrayed Arthur," I tell her defensively. "And neither would Lancelot. But something did happen, and I never found out exactly what it was. It was probably Morgana, but I don't know how she did it."

"Did what?"

"Enchant Gwen. Guinevere," I amend. "Lancelot showed up again out of nowhere and she was found with him, just before she and Arthur were supposed to be married."

Gwen makes a face that's somewhere between pity and guilt. "What did he do? Arthur?"

"He banished her." I close my eyes, remembering the hurt in Arthur's voice when he'd told me what happened, when he told me never to mention her name again. Guinevere's betrayal had almost killed him- and her too. I'd visited her a few times, trying to investigate the enchantment I was sure had triggered her actions, but she was as ignorant as I was. "She came back, eventually, and Arthur forgave her," I go on. "And everything was ok again for a while."

I can tell that she wants to ask what happened after "a while", but something in my tone warns her from it. Instead she just nods quietly. "So I- Guinevere- still ended up with Arthur?"

"For a while."

We've meandered into the line- or rather, Gwen steered us there while I was talking- and by now we're pretty close to the spot where Professor Penn is standing near a group of excited students, chattering about his lecture. Some girls just ahead of me are talking about medieval history, comparing his thoughts to something one of their history professors said. I listen absently, caught between their words in the present and my memories of the past. After a few moments I realize that Gwen is watching me and return my attention to her.

"You really believe all that, don't you?" she asks again.

I nod.

For a moment longer we stand still, Gwen blinking while I listen to the girls' discussion. Then she smiles. "Ok, Morgan. Let's see what Professor Penn has to say."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, everyone! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in a while- I foolishly decided to do NaNoWriMo, which consumed all of my writing energies. This story isn't dead, I promise. So sorry for my absence, but it should be pretty regular for a while now (at least until January, when I do my school's version of NaNo. Wish me luck!) Thanks so much for your patience and support!**

It takes another ten minutes for the girls in front of us to finish up their conversation, which Gwen and I spend in near-silence that is thoughtful and just a tad awkward. I try not to eavesdrop, but the sound of Uther's voice is so painfully nostalgic that I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else. There is a new gentleness in his voice that I rarely heard from the ruthless King of Camelot; it was only when he spoke about Arthur that anyone could glimpse the easy, tender man Gaius swore he'd once been. Now, however, the professor's eyes shine with excitement as he speaks with the girls, and he smiles openly and often. The sight is strange enough to make me feel a little uncomfortable, as if my memories are feeding me a false image of who the man he used to be.

Finally, the girls thank Professor Penn and flit away, still chattering about his lecture. Gwen grabs my arm and nudges me forward, standing half a step behind me and watching my reaction. Before me, Uther Pendragon turns to us both and smiles warmly as he adjusts his glasses over the bridge of his nose. I swallow and try to ignore the automatic sense of dread that usually accompanied his attention to me.

"Thank you so much for attending the lecture," he begins, and my vision of King Uther wavers beneath the kindness in his voice. "It's wonderful to see young people so interested in the past."

From the corner of my eye I see Gwen staring at me, so I take a breath and return his smile with as much normalcy as I can muster. "We really enjoyed it," I begin lightly. "You have, er… fascinating ideas. I've always thought so."

"I don't know if the majority of academia would agree with you," he laughs. "But I thank you." By now Gwen has moved up beside me and is studying the professor as if he might spontaneously transform into the medieval ruler I claimed him to be. If he notices her scrutiny, he is tactfully ignoring it while I sift through my thoughts and try to find a way to bring up our past.

"I was wondering," I go on. "Where did you get your ideas about magic? Are there texts you've found, or legends you heard?" I already know the answer to this: he discussed it in his first book and probably mentioned it in the lecture, though I don't remember when.

Professor Penn nods and smiles again. "Ah, yes- there is a book, actually, that I found many years ago in a museum in Newport. It was a raggedy old thing, half-eaten by mice and moths- it dates back to the middle ages- and it described magic in a way that sounded almost like science. It was written by a scholar called Aodh. Have you heard of him?"

"I'm afraid not," I lie smoothly, but I can't help wondering what he would do if I told him that Aodh was the name I used when I lived in Ireland during the 1500s.

"It's a fascinating read, if you read ancient Gaelic," Penn comments. I smile despite myself. "I found it during my university years, and I thought it so interesting that I simply kept researching."

There have been many times in my life when I've wished I could speak to Arthur again; to laugh and fight and simply _talk_ with the man who had been my best friend- a friendship I've never replaced. But this is something he would have to see to believe: King Uther, persecutor of sorcery, being inspired to study magic by the writings of his son's immortal, magic-wielding manservant. It's almost too ridiculous to believe, and in fact I am tempted to wonder again if this is an elaborate dream. I feel Arthur's absence more acutely than I have in years.

"What do you think about reincarnation?" Gwen questions suddenly. I look at her in surprise, but when she catches my glance she seems unperturbed. "I've read the article you wrote with Dr. Guy about past lives, and I thought it was brilliant."

A shy smile spreads across Dr. Penn's face. "That's very kind of you. Yes, Dr. Guy and I have spent years discussing and researching reincarnation... it's a fascinating theory. Many cultures believe that a soul never truly dies- rather, it simply continues through a cycle of lives until they reach enlightenment. Others say it never stops. There's also a theory that the connections a soul makes during one lifetime recur again during the next life. Some speculate that we never really meet anybody new- that all of our relationships are formed on the unconscious memory of our old lives."

Gwen gives me an impressed look. "So, theoretically," she says slowly. "The souls of historical figures could be walking among us now."

"Theoretically, yes," answers Penn.

"Even King Arthur!" she jokes.

Penn laughs, but I feel as if there's a hole in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't really thought about the possibility of Arthur's reincarnated soul inhabiting a different body. The promise I had clung to for so many hundreds of years had always made me think that Arthur would simply return; that he would rise triumphantly out of the lake, sword in hand, and resume his clotpole ways as if nothing had happened. The thought had never occurred to me that he may not be the same Arthur- an impressive statement, considering the amount of thoughts afforded by immortality. But suppose the day I've been waiting for finally arrived- that Arthur finally returned- and he didn't even recognize me.

Would he even be the same Arthur at all?

Gwen is saying something about Arthur's knights working at fast food restaurants, but I'm only half listening. I snap my attention back just as Penn informs us that he has another engagement this evening and thanks us again for attending his lecture. "It's wonderful to see young people so interested in history," he repeats, beaming. "I do hope to see you again. Dr. Guy and I have been talking about co-teaching a lecture series for a semester. Perhaps I'll see you in class?"

"Of course!" Gwen assures him, and I add an appropriately convincing smile.

As Dr. Penn wishes us a good evening and turns to go, Gwen raises her eyebrows at me and waits for my reaction to the meeting. When I don't immediately share it, she prompts, "Well? What did you think?"

"He's nothing like he was," I answer slowly. "But then, I didn't know him before. He and Gaius were friends when they were younger, so perhaps that is what he would have been without his obsession with sorcery."

"That's him _without_ his obsession with sorcery?" Gwen comments. "Dr. Penn spent his whole life studying medieval magic."

"A different kind of obsession then," I amend absently. "He's researching it, not trying to destroy it."

"Alright," she allows. "But you still think he's the reincarnated version of King Arthur's father?"

"Go ahead and laugh," I sigh. "Honestly, I don't blame you. But it's the truth." Well, mostly.

But she doesn't laugh. Instead, she tilts her head a little to one side, looking thoughtful. "Why did you say that you were Merlin? Before? When you said I was Guinevere, and Dr. Penn was Uther."

I shrug. "Because I am. Was. I was Merlin."

She blinks, and her eyebrows draw together to give her a pensive expression. "And you remember parts of that life? Like actual memories? Or is it like a dream?"

"They're memories," I answer, unsure of where she's going with her questions. "Like meeting you earlier, or waking up this morning."

"But how do you keep it all straight?" she presses. "How do you keep from confusing them?"

A slight smile pulls at my lips; I can feel it distantly, like the nagging suspicion I've forgotten something. "They do get confused, sometimes. But half of the memories have swords and armor and castles, and the other half don't. That's not so hard to keep separate."

Gwen laughs. "Well if you were Merlin, you must have been able to do magic!" she exclaims. "Go on, then! Do you remember any of that?"

Of course I do, but I'm not about to expose myself to her now. Memories or no, Uther Pendragon is in the same building as we are, and no one's life is in danger. There are no destinies to fulfill and no cabbage-headed princes to save. I've learned my lesson about using magic for fun. It always comes back to bite me.

But I've also gotten pretty good at sleight of hand tricks over the years- they've come in handy many times in the past. So I mumble some words in ancient Cornish and hold out the book I was reading earlier and pretending to make it levitate. It's a simple enough trick- all I'm doing is holding it against my right palm with my left index finger- but I've practiced it so often that I know it looks real. Gwen lets out an appropriated astonished "Ooh!" and claps, and I grin and give an exaggerated bow.

She laughs again, inspecting my book as if it's a prop I had planted just in case she asked me to prove that I could wield magic. "I guess that settles it," she chuckles. "You really must be Merlin."

I smile along with her, just happy that she hasn't suggested I see a therapist or called the police to commit me to the mental institution. "I'll teach you, if you like," I offer spontaneously.

"I would love that," she says. "Morgan, would you- I mean-" She breaks off, abruptly shy for a reason I can't fathom. "I can't believe I'm going along with this, but- well, not that I don't believe you, it's just- it's pretty unbelievable, isn't it?"

It is, so I simply nod. "What were you going to ask?"

"Well, I just thought… if Dr. Penn really is like… um, King Uther, and if I look like- like Guinevere," she shrugs. "Would you like to meet Lance? You said you remembered Lancelot. That would be a pretty good test, wouldn't it? Whether or not he looks the same?"

I can't understand why she hasn't run from me yet, but I'm not about to question it. "Yes," I answer, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice. "That would be helpful."

"Alright," she answers. "I'll ask him to meet me at the coffee shop tomorrow afternoon. Around 2? Can you make that?"

"I'll be there," I promise.

She gives me another smile and nods. "Great. Then I'll see you tomorrow."


End file.
